Laisse moi t'embêter
by define-serenity
Summary: Sebastian/Blaine. For some reason Blaine seemed to think Sebastian's incapable of relinquishing control in the bedroom. Hu. oneshot. COMPLETE.


**disclaimer:** without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

**author's notes:** i don't actually know what this is, other than it's almost 6000 words of Blaine taking his sweet time?

**warnings:** sexual content

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**Laisse moi t'embêter****;;**

* * *

It's deceptive.

He's never fully appreciated how much he relies on his eyesight in a sexual situation, noticing the way skin flushes red all over, goosebumps tiptoeing underneath his fingertips, the hot and heavy sheen of sweat forming on a naked chest.

That's gone now, the blindfold makes sure of that, knotted tight across his eyes.

He's tried relying on his other senses for a good few minutes, feels the blanket warm underneath his hands, hard floor beneath that, his heartbeat steady in his chest, the smell of something scented close by. But his boyfriend, quiet as a mouse.

Blaine's somewhere in the room with him—he thinks so anyway, he hadn't heard the door, had he? He can't be sure, it's difficult to tell with the anticipation of what's to come wrapped around his shoulders—Blaine brushes past him, and he gasps and reaches out, but only grabs air. It's _frustrating_, but he'd promised Blaine they'd try it his way and he's quite determined to win this challenge.

For some reason Blaine seemed to think he's incapable of relinquishing control in the bedroom. _Hu._

And by control he didn't mean who topped or who bottomed, but who took charge and begged and—Which is _ridiculous_, of course, because Blaine gets as much say in what they do as he does. Blaine just always ends up begging more than him. But is that his fault, really?

"I bet I could make you beg," Blaine had said, seated next to him on the couch, that sassy little head bob and equally sassy smile pulling at his lips, staring at him from the corner of his eye. There was a challenge in those hazel eyes, and when had he ever passed up an opportunity like that?

"Okay, call it," he said.

Blaine blinked at him as if he never expected to get any leeway. "What?"

"Pick a night. Any night." He shrugged, sliding closer to Blaine. "And you can do whatever you want to me."

Blaine seemed sceptical at first, maybe his confidence made him hesitate, or maybe he honestly believed him incapable of giving over control. "Terms?" he asked.

He leaned closer, Blaine granting him access to his neck, lips brushing a kiss right below his ear. "If I don't beg I get to have my way with you for an entire week," he whispered against Blaine's skin. "I get to fuck you every which way I please and you get no say at all."

Blaine swallowed hard, eyes fluttered shut for the slightest of moments. "And—and if I win?"

He grinned. "Killer, if I beg we'll do it the other way around."

Maybe it was the temptation of either scenario that finally convinced Blaine, but he turned his head, placed a lingering kiss on his lips and said: "Deal."

He was confident that he would win.

Maybe a little too confident.

Because after almost five years he really should've given Blaine more credit. It's not that he didn't believe Blaine knew his body as well as he knew Blaine's, in fact he knows Blaine has intimate knowledge of every beauty spot on his body and could probably draw them from memory on a life-size model of him.

In turn he knows every curl on Blaine's head, every dimple, has memorized the treasure trail running from his navel down to his cock, the dark vein running down the underside, the stark onset of Blaine's hipbones that's only grown more pronounced over the years—

He's definitely underestimated his reliance on visual input during sex.

It'd taken Blaine two weeks. He doesn't know if that's how long it took Blaine to decide exactly what to do to him, or if he'd needed the time to plan, or if he'd known all along there was a long weekend coming perfect for this occasion, but he'd come home on Friday night, Blaine waiting for him in the living room, holding a glass of red wine in each hand, the table set for two.

He dropped his suitcase, his jacket and shoes had already come off in the hallway, and walked over to his boyfriend. "Finally up for the challenge, hu?" he said, leaned in and brushed his lips over Blaine's.

"Oh, I know I can pull this off," Blaine said, smiled softly and handed him his glass, raising his own for a toast. "Here's to an entire week of having you my way."

He clinked their glasses together. "Cocky." He took a sip from his wine, eyes locked with Blaine's. "I like this side of you."

Blaine smiled. "I know."

They had a light meal together, and it wasn't any different from how they usually spend their nights; they talked about their day at work, complained about this or that co-worker and got excited over new projects, only now their conversation was underlain with a strange suspense—surely this wasn't what Blaine had in mind as foreplay? Then again, _whatever Blaine wanted_ could very well include a little more domesticity beforehand.

"What is going on in that head of yours, Blaine Anderson?" he asked after they finished the dishes. Blaine had been remarkably quiet and calm for most of the night, and masterfully hid any giddy excitement he might have felt.

Blaine walked over to him, his hands settling at his waist and reached up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going to run you a bath," he said, looked up at him, stifling a smile.

Five minutes later his mostly silent boyfriend was stripping him down in the bathroom, and he decided not to point out the uncharacteristic silence. Blaine's rules, Blaine's game. He was only hoping to profit from it. The lights inside were off, candles lit all over, the water in the bathtub adorned with a generous amount of bubbles. He hesitated to roll his eyes; it wasn't like he hadn't prepared the bathroom like this himself more than a few times.

Blaine's movements were deliberate, made with the sole purpose of removing his clothes and discarding them on the floor, every care taken not to touch him.

He raised his hand to unbutton Blaine's cardigan once, but Blaine batted his hand away, said "No monkey business," and only then did he realize Blaine said he'd run _him_ a bath. Not them. _Him_.

"You're not joining me?"

"I had a shower earlier," Blaine answered, pulling his boxers down expertly and – he dare say – admiring the view for at least a few moments longer than was necessary. This wasn't given over control; he'd always enjoyed the way Blaine looked at him and enjoyed doing the same to Blaine—it had started out as a little less control than he was completely comfortable with, but the knowledge that he was laying himself bare for someone he loved and trusted, and felt the same things in return, made it a habit very fast.

Blaine stood up again with a goofy smile pulling at a corner of his mouth, and nodded towards the bathtub. "Get in."

He dutifully did as he was told, dipped into the bathtub, the water only just reaching his waist, bubbles reaching a little higher.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said. "_You_ don't move," he added, pointing a finger, and stalked out of the bathroom.

Move? Where would he move to? He promised Blaine he'd be at his mercy for a night of his choosing and as of this moment Blaine hadn't done anything they hadn't done together before. Though he really would've preferred it if Blaine had joined him, because just him, _alone_, without any—

And it's as if Blaine read his mind. He came strolling back in with their two wine glasses and what was left in the bottle and he looked _glorious_. He'd left his cardigan in the living room and was wearing a plain white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and—did he un-gel his hair? He could've sworn there was more gel in it before Blaine left the room.

He stared up at his beautiful man, black hair curling at his forehead and he decided he didn't care; it didn't matter if he begged or not because no matter what he gets to _have_ and _be_ with this man every single day.

"We shouldn't let this go to waste," Blaine said, and poured them both another glass of wine. And then he settled down next to the bathtub.

Neither of them said a word for the next twenty minutes; Blaine grabbed the loofah, dipped it into the water and started dragging it over his body, movements concise again, never lingering. They caught each other's glances now and then and smiled, Blaine shaking his head like it was hard to believe any of it was happening. And he relished in his special treatment, let his eyes drift closed and felt the drag and pull of the sponge across his chest, up and down his legs and he relaxed into it. That's probably why Blaine made him in the first place, to make sure he was focused on the here and now, let all other thoughts drift away.

He had the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss Blaine more than once, lick up his neck, drag his teeth over that patch of collarbone that showed where Blaine's shirt was unbuttoned. But he didn't want to run the risk of getting slapped again. If Blaine was determined to make him beg in the bedroom, he didn't want to think about all the possible scenarios that were yet to come.

"So," he said, sitting up as directed to give Blaine access to his back, "this is one of your secret fantasies, is it?"

Blaine chuckled lightly and it was such a gratifying sound—Blaine was enjoying this and it was prize enough for him. Not that he in any way planned on admitting defeat. "You know I like taking care of you," Blaine answered, placing a kiss to his shoulder.

And he could see it, Blaine's fantasy, dinner together, doing the dishes together, taking care of him—it was so very much Blaine that this night couldn't have gone any different and he'd be a complete and utter liar if he said he wasn't loving it. He hadn't always been the guy who cuddled or took his boyfriend out to romantic dinners, in fact for the longest time he didn't do _boyfriends_. Until Blaine. Being with Blaine had made him realize he did have some romantic bones in his body.

"Honey," Blaine said softly, stroking a hand through his hair.

He shook himself out of his daze and opened his eyes, finding Blaine close, his hazel eyes shining in the candlelight. "Hmm?"

Blaine leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss along his bottom lip. "You're going to dry yourself off, and put on your boxers, and then come find me in the bedroom," he spoke against his lips and pulled back. Blaine smiled softly, eyes unsure of where to settle, which betrayed his own enthusiasm. "And there's no rush."

He watched Blaine back away and retreat again, probably making his way to the bedroom.

He laughed and shook his head, but did as he was told. He stood up and grabbed the towel Blaine left for him, drying himself off, taking his time, idly wondering why Blaine had insisted he put on fresh boxers, when surely they'd be coming off again. But considering what tonight was all about, he figured it might be a while before they did.

He pinched out all the candles, knowing otherwise Blaine would only worry about the apartment catching fire.

And then he finally made his way into the bedroom—the lights were out here as well, artificial candles bathing the room in near darkness; apparently Blaine thought their bedroom was far more flammable than the bathroom.

It seemed Blaine had decided he was going to play this fair: he'd taken off his pants, revealing the same black boxers he was wearing. His white shirt still clung to his shoulders, but it was unbuttoned down the front. Blaine was waiting for him by the window and he was—just, _breathtaking_, his open shirt revealing his amazing body, boxers clinging low to his hips, ready to do with him whatever he wanted.

He didn't care that he was staring.

Blaine smiled, half embarrassed. "What?" he asked.

He gestured at his boyfriend. "You look—_killer_," he said, not beyond admitting this at all. From the moment he met Blaine he knew he'd be able to keep up with him physically, his outfits often strangely deceptive as to exactly what that physique was. His outfit now didn't leave any questions. But he sincerely hoped Blaine knew he had more self-control than that.

Blaine smiled again and took a few steps closer to him. "Sit down," he said, but when he made a move for the bed he was reprimanded again. "Not the bed," Blaine added, and pointed down at the floor. It took him a moment to make it out in the dark, but the floor in front of their bed was covered with a thick blanket; so as not to stain the rug?

_Okay. _

He raised his eyes to meet Blaine's, but he folded his hands together in front of him and tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently. This night was going to be _very_ interesting. He sank down to the floor, not once taking his eyes off Blaine, his heart starting to beat faster—Blaine really did seem to have everything under control, every action planned.

"And—" Blaine said, grabbing something off the dresser, "—this," Blaine added, looking down at him intensely, holding out a black scarf that he was pretty sure they didn't own before today.

His mouth dropped open. "A blindfold?" His eyes went wide, but lips slid in a grin. "Kinky."

Blaine walked over to him, placed the scarf over his eyes without waiting for any consent and tied it in a knot at the back of his head.

And so now here he sits cross-legged on the floor of their bedroom with only his boxers on, blindfolded. It'd started okay because he could clearly hear Blaine move around, hear a bedside drawer opening and closing—that was probably Blaine grabbing the lube and other supplies he'd need.

But then the room had gone quiet.

He can't even tell how long it's been: ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour?

And he really wishes he hadn't sounded so eager when he uttered the word _kinky_.

"Blaine," he says, feeling neglected for too long. "I don't know what you're trying to achieve here, but this isn't doing anything for me."

Somewhere in the room, Blaine's low chuckle resounds. Is he sitting somewhere, looking at him?

"And this does not qualify as begging," he says.

"Always so impatient," Blaine's voice sounds to his right, body heat radiating close to his cheek and then Blaine plants a kiss just shy of his lips. Before he can turn his head and take more Blaine's gone again.

He barely holds back the growl at the back of his throat, body tense with something too close to excitement already.

His fingers dig into the blanket.

"Why am I on the floor?" he asks, hoping it'll keep him together a little while longer.

"You said whatever I wanted," Blaine's voice sounds from his left now, and it's completely disorienting and it's _maddening_, not knowing where Blaine is, not being able to touch him, not being able to _see_ him. But he knows he shouldn't let his frustration get to him. Not so early in the game anyway. Because he does get it: the bed dipping any which way would give away Blaine's position. He's really thought this through, his man.

"You did mean that, right?" Blaine asks, followed by the distinct crack in one of his knees when he stands up. And he thinks Blaine does it on purpose now, the slow drag of his heels over the floor, letting him know exactly where he is.

He turns his head and the tip of his nose brushes fabric; Blaine gasps, but doesn't move and he doesn't only feel him, the heat of Blaine's soft cock through his boxers but he smells him, all fresh cotton and clean skin and _Blaine_ and he almost loses his mind. "_Fuck_," he mouths, his breath hot between them, and he swears to God he even tastes Blaine.

He doesn't need his eyes to know what to do, doesn't need to see to feel it or make Blaine feel it. He reaches out with his lips instinctively, mouthing at Blaine's cock through the fabric, tongue darting out. Both his legs fall to one side, hand grabbing Blaine's ankle for support, the other trailing up the inside of Blaine's thigh.

Blaine hisses and pulls back. He lunges forward but it's no use—Blaine stands out of reach again.

And he whines low in his throat. _Damn_.

"Honey," Blaine says, breathing labored. _Did he catch his boyfriend by surprise?_

He clears his throat, struggling to reach through the haze. "Yeah?"

Blaine moves closer again, there's the distinct warmth and smell of him, and runs a hand through his hair. "Don't you think we really should've agreed beforehand exactly what begging entails?"

"Oh, you're bad." He chuckles. "I think we both know what begging sounds like."

And he's most decidedly _not_ begging yet.

He reaches out with one arm, but Blaine steps away again. He grins, tilts his head and angles it upward. "And I swear I'll be able to admit defeat."

The room falls silent, and he has no idea what Blaine's doing or thinking or if he's even looking at him—he must be, what else could he possibly be doing? It comes as a shock to him, but he doesn't really like this, being in the dark, the not knowing what's going to happen. He trusts Blaine more than anyone in this world, but he feels exposed and with the blindfold he has nothing to hold onto.

"Okay," Blaine says at long last, and he hears something dropping to the floor. His shirt. It's only mildly comforting to know that Blaine's as naked as he is now—he thinks with the blindfold on he's the one truly stripped bare.

Blaine stalks over to him again and leans down to capture his lips. They're feather light kisses to his top and bottom lip and he wants it to be more, wants to feel Blaine close the way he knows and can imagine, not with this uncertainty blanketing everything. But every time he tries to reach up, tries to deepen the kiss and his tongue strokes out, Blaine pulls back.

Yes, okay, he gets it, Blaine's rules, Blaine's game.

"Lie down," Blaine whispers and disappears out of reach once again, only now he seems to make sure Sebastian can hear him. He hears something click, and music starts playing softly, a few things thudding to the ground next to him once Blaine's by his side again. The bottle of lube, and—?

"Come on, baby," Blaine says, "Lie down."

He hesitates until he feels Blaine's fingers brush his cheek, a soft kiss following right after. He lies back on the floor, legs bend at the knees; it feels slightly less naked.

And maybe it's not exactly what Blaine planned, because if he'd known about all this not even he could've predicted he'd feel like this, but Blaine settles his body against his left side, hand stroking one cheek, lips trailing kisses over the other, down his neck. But, no, he thinks, in any other situation Blaine would've thrown a leg over him, maybe straddled his hips, rubbed up against him to get them both hard, but as far as he can tell Blaine's still in complete control.

And he, well, whatever brief spark there was before has all but faded.

"I love you so much, Sebastian," Blaine mutters, and he can tell Blaine leans up on his elbow to look at him. God, what he wouldn't give to have this damn blindfold off. But he's pretty sure asking would count as begging.

"You're so beautiful," Blaine whispers.

The word makes his breath hitch somewhere at the back of his throat. He's not used to Blaine calling him beautiful. Gorgeous maybe, but not beautiful. And somehow the new turn of phrase becomes all he needs; he made Blaine a promise, they had _a deal_, and there's no reason for him to think he's not in capable hands. He loves Blaine. He trusts Blaine.

"I trust you, B," he says, stretching his legs out. He knows his meaning won't be mistaken. "Completely."

Another kiss seems to be the only response he gets; Blaine licks along his bottom lip, his lips part in a gasp and before he knows it Blaine's licking his tongue into his mouth, lying half-draped over his body, their hands tangling in each other's hair and it's not hard to relate to this—_this_ they've done before with their eyes closed. He knows what to do to make Blaine moan into his mouth, knows where to touch to get the strongest reaction, make his back arch or his hips stutter and make him beg for _more, Sebastian, please baby, I need_—

"I love you," Blaine whispers, pulling back again, body pulling back too.

He swallows hard, trying not to whine at the sudden loss. But he promised. "I love you too," he says, voice dipping a few octaves.

Blaine plants a kiss behind his ear, hand leaving his cheek, fingertips tracing featherlight lines down his neck. He feels his skin break out in goosebumps from the sparse contact, his whole body shivers, already aching for more. But all Blaine allows him are ghosts of his touches, followed by ghosts of kisses where his fingers have caressed a path. And then his tongue, everywhere.

His chest gets most of the attention first, fingertips and kisses and the barest touch of Blaine's tongue, lips nipping at the skin as Blaine raises himself above him, hovering, never quite touching. He loses himself in it, probably as much as Blaine does, because his fingertips become flat palms hot against his skin, tongue dragged hot and wet over his nipples before Blaine's teeth graze his skin—

He feels his knees draw up again beyond his control, Blaine seating himself between them as his hands move lower _lower_ and he just about crawls out of his skin when Blaine's hands merely skim his cock through his boxers.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asks, but doesn't manage to shake him from his reverie.

"Trying not to embarrass myself?" He chuckles, but there are nerves that make his voice tremble. He still feels Blaine's hands everywhere and it's causing a complete sensory overload, his skin tingling and flushed hot, heart racing, and it would be _embarrassing_, down_right_ embarrassing to get hard from being touched like this.

Blaine laughs. "Still think you can win this, don't you?"

He grins. "Oh, I do, killer." But he knows he's sounding less and less certain of himself by the minute. Blaine knows exactly what he's doing and he's so close to not caring what happens anymore. He's unravelling at the seams underneath his boyfriend's expert touches and he knows that any moment he will start begging.

Blaine draws his fingertips over the inside of his thighs, soft kisses replacing his fingers and his nose draws over his skin and he moans, a pathetically low moan from the back of his throat but Blaine's hot breath right there where he's so incredibly sensitive, Blaine's lips and tongue drawing up closer and closer to his cock and his balls and he can't hold it back—

"Baby—" he whimpers, heat pooling in his stomach, a rush of ecstasy down his spine. Screw embarrassing, he's half-hard and he _wants_ Blaine so bad, his entire body aching for more and he gives up, he can't take it anymore, the word falls from his lips, "—_please_."

He swears he can feel Blaine smile against his thigh the moment the word surfaces between them.

Blaine rakes his teeth over his skin, his fingers hooking in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them off him painstakingly slow—he writhes on the floor, one hand clawing at the blanket, the other fisting his own hair; he's absolutely certain Blaine would bat his hands away if he should reach out.

Blaine peels his boxers past his ankles and tosses them somewhere in a desolate corner of the room—only he doesn't come back immediately. He guesses it's to take off his own boxers but he can't hear anything. He thinks maybe Blaine's looking down at him, admiring the view like he would, but he's never felt more exposed in his life, stripped down, lacking any kind of protection.

His shoulders pull up from the ground beyond his control. "Blaine—"

"Shhh," Blaine hushes, hand clasping around his ankle. "I'm right here."

But it's not enough, Blaine's not close enough, he can't feel the heat of him or his body and suddenly his heart rate spikes with something that feels eerily close to panic. This is new. "I need—" he starts, but he doesn't know what to say. He needs _everything_.

"I know, baby, I know," Blaine says, and he feels him seated between his legs until he's hovering over him again, an arm placed on either side of his head. "I'm right here, I'm sorry."

Blaine kisses his neck and behind his ear, his chest settling against his and yes, that's what he needs, Blaine right there, Blaine up close and personal where he can feel him, taste him, smell him, hear him—everything but the visual.

Blaine's cock lies hard against his stomach, his own grazing the inside of Blaine's thigh and his hips jerk up.

He moans, hips looking for more friction, but Blaine doesn't move—his body just goes tense against his from whatever arousal he's trying not to vocalize and he can't for the life of him figure out where Blaine gets the strength to hold back, because he's losing his mind fast, his head spinning, dizzy with lust.

"Blaine, _please_," he begs.

Blaine finally moves a hand down, wrapping around his cock tight, "I've got you," he says, before stroking him once, twice, three times, slowly, still taking his sweet time. His hips buck up into Blaine's hand but whatever nonsense threatens to escape him drowns against Blaine's lips, the slide of his tongue against his, wet and hot and so incredibly slow that he doesn't need Blaine's hand to get him so hard it hurts.

"I've got you," Blaine repeats softly, still fisting his cock, long strokes down, fist twisting and he's set such a languid pace he fears Blaine plans on drawing this out for another hour or so.

"I've got you," Blaine whispers, nuzzling his neck again, a kiss to his skin. "Just let go."

And he knows, he just knows, this isn't about begging or winning for Blaine, it's about getting him to let go, to lose control if only this one night—maybe his insistence of being in control, however unconscious it was, has bothered Blaine more than either of them realized, so how can he not give Blaine this, how can he not give him this one night – one entire week – of being at his mercy completely. Anything to make Blaine happy.

He feels Blaine's breath against his lips.

"I wanna fuck you," Blaine says softly, so careful and so innocent as if he's afraid he'll get turned down, as if he's never done it before, but he knows why Blaine really asks—he wants to make sure he's comfortable exposing himself even further, allowing Blaine to strip him down to his most primal urges and nothing else and—

"Yes," he breathes, hands curling in Blaine's hair because he honestly doesn't know what to do with himself. "Baby, please, yes," his voice sounds above a whisper.

Blaine's hands leave him momentarily, his lower body weight leaning down on him hard but it's reassuring having Blaine this close in every way even though he can't look at him. He hears the cap of the lube pop, Blaine slicking his fingers, and he's back on top of him before he can think about it too much. Blaine steadies himself on one arm, while his other hand slides down between their bodies again, lower this time, past his hips and his cock—

His hips snap up violently when Blaine presses the pad of his thumb in the spot right below his balls. "F–fuck!" he calls out. His head thrashes back and forth, body taut with desire and he swears any moment now he's going to _explode_.

Blaine's thumb doesn't relent, still massaging the sensitive spot, while his index finger circles his hole. He eases a fingertip inside, pulling in and out shallowly, allowing his body to adjust, but he's already pushing back on Blaine's hand—he clenches around Blaine's finger, back arching off the floor in an attempt to take Blaine even deeper.

"B, _more_," he pants, and it isn't long before Blaine pulls out one finger, pressing at his hole with two moments later.

Blaine's less patient now, easing his fingers in faster, thrusting in and out, working him open and for the first time Blaine slips, his hips stutter and his whole body shakes with a shiver. "Fuck, Sebastian, I—" he gasps. "You feel so good."

Blaine curls his fingers, fingertips brushing his prostate and he –_fuck this_– he's not used to this the way that Blaine seems to be, he can't—

"Baby, you have to—God—just fuck me already," he says, his toes curling at the sensation of having Blaine inside him; he can't even think about Blaine's cock up his ass or he might just come right there. "I'm not going t—to last."

"Yes, you will, baby," Blaine whispers against his lips, slowing down his movements, assuaging some of the pressure. "You w—You will for me," Blaine stutters, and he thinks that must be what does it, Blaine's voice laden with desire, lower than he thinks he's ever heard it; he recognizes it as his own desire whenever he's the one in control, whenever he has Blaine underneath him squirming and begging and crying out—he knows what Blaine's feeling, holding back for him, focusing on what he's doing to coax all the right reactions out of him, putting his feelings before his own.

He's never thought of it that way, that as much as he's in control it's about Blaine's pleasure first, his own second—he draws pleasure from seeing Blaine fall apart beneath him and a rush runs through him thinking about Blaine feeling the same for him now.

Blaine adds a third finger, stretching him wider, but he doesn't take nearly as much time being careful, finger-fucking him fast and steady.

"Are you ready?" Blaine asks, licking a hot line behind his ear.

He nods, anything more out of his power now.

Next thing he knows Blaine withdraws his fingers, leaving him feeling cold and empty, but Blaine's hand curls around his thigh so he can lift his leg up to throw over his shoulder and— "Don't," he protests, hand reaching up to curl around Blaine's neck. He searches for Blaine's lips and normally he'd start feeling like a fool flailing like this but that's all overpowered by this raging desire inside him. But he doesn't find Blaine's lips; Blaine pulls back to stare down at him. "Baby, I need you close."

"You know I don't—" Blaine says and he knows—he knows Blaine doesn't like it this way, that it frustrates him that he can't thrust deeper and can barely reach his lips, but he doesn't want Blaine to go, he wants to feel the sweat on his chest on his skin, wants to nip and bite and kiss but he really only _needs. Blaine. close_.

He's almost afraid that Blaine will let go, strut over to the bed and grab a pillow to prop up his ass but that means he'll have to get up and he can't have that. Blaine knowshe can't do that right now.

It comes as a much bigger surprise to him when he feels Blaine's fingers tugging at the blindfold covering his eyes. Maybe it's Blaine's concession, maybe it's Blaine telling him this is his closeness, if he can't have one thing he'll have the other, but—

"No," follows his kneejerk reaction. He made a promise. He'll do this Blaine's way. He only wants to feel Blaine close. "I'll turn over," he adds, and becomes acutely aware that Blaine's looking straight down at him, their breath mingling hot between them.

"_Okay_," Blaine breathes right before he feels him reaching for something by his side again.

He turns over thinking it'll take him time to adjust to the new position, but the blanket's warm beneath him and Blaine feels hot at his back and it's comforting somehow, trapped between the floor and his boyfriend, his chest flat against the ground and Blaine's chest against his back, a reassuring weight on top of him.

Blaine traces a hand down his side, fingertips almost tickling until he cups his ass, spreading his cheeks to give him access. The anticipation has completely consumed him, his body more than a little ready for release but not before this, not before taking everything Blaine has planned for him. Blaine pops the cap of the lube again, making the most delicious noises as he slicks up his cock, gasping and breathing hard at his own touch.

He lays the palms of his hands flat on the blanket beneath him, tries to breathe evenly and get himself as relaxed as possible. Blaine kisses his shoulder before lining his cock up with his asshole, one arm reaching around his torso to give himself something to hold onto. It helps to have Blaine's arm between him and the ground, a safety he's never felt the need for, not when they were having sex anyway, but having it there right now only shows how well Blaine knows him, manages to read him even through the sensory overload.

He lets out a strangled cry once Blaine drives into him, the head of his cock breaching him cautiously first before Blaine pushes himself all the way inside—he's louder than he's ever been, possibly louder than he's been able to make Blaine cry out—

"I'm sorry," Blaine apologizes immediately, stilling his movements. "Baby, I'm sorry."

"N—no," he chokes out, overwhelmed by the sensation of Blaine filling him up, his own cock trapped between his body and the floor, staining the blanket with his pre-come. "So… good… baby," he pants, wriggling his ass to get Blaine to move again, fuck him into oblivion, make him beg and come and kiss him silly afterwards as the sweat on their bodies cools and they're a tangled mess of arms and legs.

"Please… just… _move_," he begs, his impatience getting the best of him, back arching, the blanket bunching together where his fingers are digging into it.

It isn't long before Blaine sets a pace, slow and languid and maddening all over again, but somehow it enables him to smooth his cock against the blanket in chime with Blaine's long strokes inside his ass, and it's almost like there's a grace to it, in and our, back and forth, hands pulling at the blanket and Blaine groaning in rhythm with his thrusts.

His entire body's shaking, every inch of him on fire, muscles stretched to the brink of pain but then Blaine will push inside him again and brush his prostate and pleasure shorts out everything, running up and down his spine, making his stomach knot with heat.

"Blaine," he moans, face half-pressed to the ground. He fists the blanket for anything to hold onto, feels Blaine's hand claw at his shoulder. "Please, I need…"

"What do you need?" Blaine asks, voice straining, and he pulls out his ass almost completely. "Come on, baby," he breathes hot against his ear, "tell me what you need."

"_Everything_," he somehow manages to choke out, breath cut short when Blaine's hips snap forward and he slams into him. They both cry out, Blaine's _lipsteethmouth_ at his shoulder and he's lost his bearings, can't tell left from right or what's up and what's down, everything is Blaine and the sound of skin slapping against skin, the smell of sex in the air, Blaine panting heavily in his ear, pounding into him at a steady pace—

And he almost begs _Blaine, please, let me hold onto the bed_, so he can raise himself up or have something to grab onto, _anything_ to make him feel just a little more—in control. And that's exactly what stops him, because he promised Blaine whatever he wanted and the part of him that does crave control, that wants to be able to fuck himself back on Blaine cock gives up, gives over, _everything_—

There's a sharp sting of pain at his shoulder and he loses it, he comes hard, cock rutting against the ground, a strangled cry muffled by the blanket, body stuttering and releasing every ounce of himself—he sees stars explode behind his eyelids.

"_Sebastian_," Blaine groans, his hips losing their rhythm, arm reaching tighter across his chest.

He struggles for air but reaches a hand back to tangle in Blaine's curls, drenched in sweat like their bodies. "Come on, baby," he whispers, fingers digging into Blaine's hair harder—he knows what he needs, Blaine's been working towards this all night, loosening him up, getting him to beg, winding him up tight to explode into this sated mess. And now he needs the same. "It's okay," he moans, Blaine's movements erratic now, "Come for me."

Blaine cries out his release seconds later, his body shakes and shivers before going taut against him; he collapses on top of him, his full body weight pressing down on him and they just lay there, both of them trying to catch their breath, Blaine's arm a reassurance that he's got him, he's safe and loved and being looked after.

He clenches one of his hands into a fist and hits the floor, body still heaving with the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock twitching limply on the floor. He doesn't think he's ever been more naked, blindfolded and stretched open, faced with a truth about himself Blaine had managed to dig up—he's never given over control like this, but however uncomfortable it had felt earlier he knows he needed this, _they_ needed this, another layer of trust between them.

He turns over again once Blaine pulls out; he tries his best to ignore the fact that he's empty now and Blaine's not touching him, but his body's so utterly wrecked it's easier somehow. Blaine reaches for something by his side and before he knows it Blaine's drawing a tissue down his abdomen; he turns on his side automatically, like he's done a thousand times, movements memorized and that's what makes it okay—he knows this so well, they know this so well it doesn't matter that he can't see, how Blaine's legs tangle with his, how Blaine's arms reach around his neck once he's done cleaning them up.

Blaine reaches around and unties his blindfold, pulling it away from his face; he blinks hard, but the room isn't bright and it doesn't take him long to bring Blaine into focus. If at all possible his man looks even more breathtaking, pupils blown, hair wet and a blush in his cheeks he somehow manages to make out.

Blaine smiles, fingers drawing circles in his hair. "Hi," he says.

"Hi." He reciprocates with a smile of his own, arms winding around Blaine's torso.

"You okay?"

"Hmm." He nods.

Blaine scoots closer and places a chaste kiss on his lips and he's so blissed out he can't muster much more in return. Another kiss follows, more passionate this time, before Blaine's lips are nudging his apart and his tongue's licking into his mouth and they're kissing, slow and lazy as was the tempo most of the night.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispers breathlessly when he pulls back, forehead resting against his.

"What for?" he asks, because he can't think of one thing Blaine would have to apologize for. Not even for fucking his brains out.

"I bit you," Blaine cackles, and buries his face in the crook of his neck, shaking against him with laughter.

"You—" he hesitates, rolling his shoulders to ascertain where Blaine could've bitten him. There's a sharp sting at his right shoulder, right where Blaine's mouth had been earlier; it'll probably hurt like hell in the morning.

He chuckles low in his throat. "Marking what's yours, hu?" he asks.

"I guess," Blaine mutters against his skin, arms tightening around him even more, almost as if he's trying to crawl inside.

It's deceptive, how he tells himself he needs to be able to see Blaine to know he's there when he knows, in moments like these, that he doesn't really need to. He knows Blaine won't leave. It's been haunting him for a while now, this desperate need for a commitment they already have—but maybe he should ask this beautiful man to marry him. Soon.

"About time," he whispers, and kisses Blaine's hair.

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**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


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